Tea With The Creator
by TheZorpisuttle
Summary: Moiraine, fuming about her prolonged stay in Finnland, arranges for a few chats with the Creator. The Creator, understandably, is rather panicked. Ch 4 is up, with Elaida and Egwene!
1. Moiraine

**Author Notes/Disclaimer:** This is my first fanfic, and it wouldn't have been written at all without inspiration gleaned from an interview with Robert Jordan. One Jamie F. asked RJ which character he'd want to sit and have tea with, and RJ replied, "I wouldn't really care to have tea with any of them. ... I've put these people through some fairly rough paces. If one of them showed up and wanted to have tea with me, I think I'd sneak out the back door and leave town for a while. No joking there; oh, no, not at all."

Attack of the plotbunny. Couldn't resist.

I took the liberty of giving the characters free will for my own (and their) nefarious purposes, but I promise to give them back unchanged when I'm done. Please don't sue. I obviously don't own said characters, I'm definitely not Robert Jordan and I have absolutely no enmity toward him.

* * *

"So, Creator. We meet _at last_." Moiraine Damodred raised an eyebrow as she sipped from a cup of steaming tea.

"So it would seem." The Creator agreed with a slight air of trepidation. The portly, bearded man fiddled nervously with his teacup, before placing it on the table with a decisive clunk. "You might as well cut to the chase."

"Oh, but after six long books, I think a little more delay hardly matters." Moiraine replied venomously, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It is not as if the fate of the world _depends_ upon us, after all."

As soon as the diminutive Aes Sedai began talking, the Creator began to seriously contemplate fighting his way out of the room. _The 'Finn couldn't possibly be as tough as I portrayed them..._ Then, looking again at Moiraine, he revised his thoughts. _They'd be tougher, I suspect._

Moiraine continued what was rapidly turning into a harangue. "I sacrificed myself for my cause- but that does not bother me. I am a Blue- I give my all to causes. And surely, my cause was worth the sacrifice."

The Creator nodded, hoping to appease her, while surreptitiously scooting his chair backwards inch by inch.

"But then, I find myself _alive,_ and in the company of none other than _Lanfear_. Would YOU like to be imprisoned in the Tower of Ghenjei with one of the most infuriating woman in the world?" she shot at him. "YOU know what she's like. YOU wrote her. The Aelfinn and the Eelfinn prevented her from physically attacking me, but I could still hear her gloating." Her lip curled, and she quoted mockingly: "'The Great Lord will release me. The Great Lord will torture you for a million Ages.' On and on, in the same vein." She stood suddenly, hands on her hips. "I tell you, it was enough to make me wonder if there even _was_ a Creator. The worst part, though, came after I convinced the Eelfinn to grant me an interview with you. All I got was _six books'_ worth of being put on hold, with only a 'The Creator cannot speak with you right now, but he wants you to know that your return is being foreshadowed. Thank you for calling.' Hardly considerate. Hardly considerate!"

"Well..." the Creator said weakly, "...I was busy, you know... I thought you'd like to know your part wasn't over..."

"Oh, indeed?" Moiraine stalked around the table, towards him. "I was reconciled with my death- until I was given the hope that I might escape from here! Those reassurances may have been an unintentional cruelty, but they were cruelty nonetheless. And adding insult to injury, Lanfear the _Forsaken_ was resurrected before you even so much as deigned to speak to me!"

The unfortunate Creator put up his hands in an attempt to deflect her anger. "But I did write New Spring for you-"

"Yes, how gratifying, but couldn't you have used that time to FREE ME INSTEAD?" she shouted in a flagrant breach of Aes Sedai serenity. Realizing that, she stopped her advance and took a deep breath before continuing in an even tone. "However, all this waiting has finally borne fruit. I had to pull every string I had to arrange these interviews, but I suspect it will be well worth all my investment."

The Creator blanched "_These_ interviews?" he quavered. "You didn't possibly mean that in the plural sense, did you?"

"I mean exactly what I said." Then, Moiraine smiled and gestured to the small wooden table bearing the teapot and cups. "You may as well sit down again while you wait for the next major character to arrive."

The Creator realized that somehow he was trembling with his back pressed up against the cold stone wall. He spotted his abandoned chair lying halfway between him and Moiraine. _I _knew_ I shouldn't have let my wife talk me into this. 'Just go talk to her. You'll be fine- you're her Creator, after all.' Light! _He buried his head in his hands. _I should have left town while I had the chance.

* * *

_

I've got a general idea of which characters I want to end this with, but if you have any suggestions as to who you want to see next, let me know and I'll do my best to accomodate you! This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic, as well as my first attempt at a WoT fic, so concrit is also incredibly welcome.


	2. Mat

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Robert Jordan. I merely put them in odd situations._

_A/N: This came out a bit later than I wanted it to, but at least it's up now, and a good page or two longer than the previous chapter! Yay! Thanks so much for all your feedback and suggestions, and continue to let me know who'd you like to see. (Asmodean's going to be showing up in the last chapter, by the way.) Hopefully this chapter will meet with approval- it's a bit more serious than the first one, but I couldn't really help that._

* * *

The Creator heard Matrim Cauthon whining even before the dark-haired young man entered the room.

"...better have a good reason for this, _Aes Sedai_! Light, I never thought I'd be back here. You're sure they won't answer any more questions? Or try to stud my hide, at that?" he said, probably managing to simultaneously eye both Moiraine and the Finns escorting him with great suspicion.

Moiraine replied with the air of one who had answered the same question many times. "Yes, Matrim. The Aelfinn and the Eelfinn will not harm you, unless, of course, you provoke them."

"_Me_ provoke _them_? Why, I'll be as sweet as a babe, up until the point they go for my throat."

The Creator just _knew_ that statement would be accompanied by an innocent smile. He heard Moiraine sigh as she opened the door. "We have arrived. I will be waiting for you outside the room- exit through this door."

"As you command, Aes Sedai." Mat made an elegant leg, though the Creator heard him mutter, "If the door's still there when I turn around."

The Creator saw that Mat had brought his ashanderei with him. This did not improve the Creator's already pessimistic outlook on the situation. He also wondered how to address Mat- technically, he _was_ the man's deity, but he wasn't feeling very omniscient, omnipotent, or indeed omni_anything_ at the moment. And it didn't sound like Moiraine had been too clear about why this meeting was taking place, so overawing Mat at the start was unlikely. _Of course, _he reflected ruefully, _Moiraine knows who I am and yet she displays a noticeable lack of timidity._

This fascinating train of thought was interrupted by Mat's greeting. "Moiraine told me you're the one responsible for everything." He paused and studied the Creator. "If that's so- and I suppose it must be-" The Creator knew that he was mentally adding "_-though the truth an Aes Sedai speaks isn't always what you think it is-_" "-then you've got a lot to answer for."

"I am the Creator." He really wished that had come out sounding slightly more godlike and less 'one-man-holding-fifty-at-a-narrow-passage'.

"Well." Mat expelled a breath forcefully, as if he had been unsure of what to think until now.

"Look, I can explain-"

"Oh, you can, can you? Why me, then? Why did Matrim bloody Cauthon have to be the one yanked in every direction but the one he wants to go in?"

The Creator tried to get a word in edgewise, but Mat's angry speech continued on, seemingly as unstoppable as a boulder rolling downhill.

"Why must I be bound to Rand, bound to the Horn, bound to my fate, always bound to something-or-other every moment of my life?"

"Because what we want is often not what we need." The Creator spoke quietly and with a growing calmness that surprised him. "Without connections, without bindings, there would be no Pattern. By surrendering to the will of the Wheel, you gain a measure of control."

"You sound like Moiraine." Mat said, scowling irritably.

"That's because I wrote her." Mat opened his mouth, but the Creator continued. "I wrote you, as well. And I know that you know everything I'm telling you, you just don't know that you know it."

"Are you _sure_ you aren't Moiraine in disguise?"

"In a manner of speaking, Moiraine is _me_ in disguise. Now stop trying to change the subject." The Creator felt robed in all his authorial authority, now, though he wasn't quite sure why. Something about guiding his creations- explaining to them- made him feel nearly as confident as an Aes Sedai. He had always known the importance of information, though, and since he was in a world of his own creation, he supposed that the sharing knowledge was translated into power in unexpected ways.

"I'm not changing the subject!" Mat protested indignantly, though slightly untruthfully.

"Yes, you are. If you want to air grievances, fine, but I will assure you that there are reasons behind every one." The Creator steepled his fingers confidently.

"If you're the Creator, that means _you_ were behind Tylin and her-" At this point, Mat tugged down his wide-brimmed hat lower and his voice fell to a sulky whisper. "-bloody flaming _pink ribbons_."

The Creator reflected that he really should have anticipated that particular complaint. "Um... that particular situation was intended for... well..." He cast about frantically for any explanation that wouldn't result in grievious injury to his person. "Character development!"

Mat glared at him darkly. "If you had said anything even _resembling_ 'a taste of your own medicine'..."

The Creator decided not to point out that he had, via Elayne.

"Because I don't chase any woman who doesn't want to be chased."

"I concede your point." _And will now change the subject._ The Creator only did what he did next out of a desire to steer away from this topic of conversation. Not at all because he enjoyed watching Mat squirm in the clutches of sweet, sweet irony. Nope. The sweet, sweet taste of irony did not factor into the situation at all. "Speaking of chasing, how's Tuon?"

Another glare from underneath the hat brim. "Mysterious. Infuriating. You're the Creator, why are you asking me?" The man was definitely sulking now. And perhaps- blushing? The Creator had to resist the urge to cackle evilly. After all, he was supposed to be on the Light side. People on the side of the Light don't go around cackling evilly. Well, perhaps it had been slightly evil, commenting on Mat's (more successful than he probably knew) courtship of Tuon, but pink ribbons were a dangerous topic that had to be avoided.

"I'll never forgive you for having that Light-blasted wall fall on me in Ebou Dar." Mat said, in a fairly obvious attempt to steer the conversation from his relationship with his future wife.

_Yes, well, the fangirls never forgave me either,_ the Creator thought dryly. _That's the last time I'll leave a major character bedridden for an entire book._ "I can't promise you no more personal injury, but I do regret the wall incident."

"Can you at least explain 'give up half the light of the world to save the world'?"

The Creator chuckled. "Of course not. The only information I can give you is 'RAFO'."

"Thank you so bloody much. I bloody well love having a flaming painful-sounding destiny to look forward to. I'm not a bloody hero, I'm not a bloody lord, and-"

"You always complain so about splinters."

"Oh, and I suppose you think that 'giving up half the light of the world' is a splinter, do you? I suppose you think that being hung is a flaming picnic, right?" Mat was standing up now, looking quite menancing.

"No. But you can handle it. Each thing I throw at you, you are strong enough to take it. Or you adapt, and learn to take it. You have always been the kind of person who keeps a promise. You have always been the kind of person who will jump into a fire to save a child. You have always had this potential. But now- now, you are in situations where these traits come out." This time, it was the Creator who had gotten to his feet.

Mat still looked angry, but he mulled over the words before shooting out, "I suppose all this was some elaborate plot to help me build character, then?"

"Of course. Although all I really did to your life was raise the stakes. But I don't think that's a problem- after all, you are a gambler."

The aforementioned gambler sat back and contemplated the words for a long, long moment. "Well, then... _Dovie'andi se tovya sagain._" And with that, he nodded to the Creator and strode through the door.

_Perhaps I'll survive this after all,_ the Creator thought.


	3. Aran'gar and Cyndane

**Disclaimer:** The world of the Wheel belongs to Robert Jordan. I am but a humble high school student who has too much fun hating on Lanfear. I am also not making any money off this.

**Author Note:** Many many thanks to those who reviewed, especially **Luna Nightraven**  
for her suggestions and **Asmodean** for his inspired "killed  
by a tree" line, as well as the background information on Aran'gar that I got  
from his fic. (I have unfortunately not gotten my grubby little paws on The Guide  
yet, but he has, so I trust the information is accurate.) Also, big thanks to my  
beta, **Firedroplet**, who has much sharper eyes than I do.

Without further ado, Chapter 3- Aran'gar and Cyndane!

* * *

The Creator had no sooner sat down again when the door burst open, this time revealing the voluptuous figure of Aran'gar.

"This is where we come to make our complaints, isn't it?" she said haughtily, sashaying into the room. "Because I happen to have some _issues_ with the direction my life has gone."

It was clear that Moiraine was nowhere in sight- and presumably, since she hadn't escorted the transsexual Forsaken in, Aran'gar wasn't supposed to be here. Unfortunately for the Creator, Aran'gar did not appear to care. She did appear rather angry, though. _Luckily,_ the Creator thought, _the physics of the Tower of Ghenjei don't permit channeling..._ Then a little voice spoke mockingly from the back of his head. _Yes... except for that one time where Rand made the sword of Fire right in the middle of the conference room._ Right. Maybe if he could get his legs to move, he could throw the lukewarm tea at her and flee via the door...

"I'm sure you are already aware, but I would like to bring certain facts to your attention anyway." She held up a finger to punctuate her points. "One, I was imprisoned. And not just any ordinary imprisonment. I passed three thousand years, three thousand years with nothing to do but _age_. And do you know why I joined the Great Lord in the first place? So I would _live forever and never age_." Her beautiful green eyes sparkled dangerously as she held up another finger. "And then- after becoming so hideously old that I had to wear a _mask_ to prevent rotted, ancient appendages detaching from my features- I was killed. By a _tree_. Me, an expert swordsw-_man_, killed by an overgrown, peace-loving, anthropomorphic personification of a _tsag_ tree!"

The slightly ajar door began to look positively heavenly. Of course, so did Aran'gar, if one was including 'death' in the definition of 'heavenly'. And if the Creator wasn't, then Aran'gar looked about to.

"Finally," she fumed, adding a third finger to the two that were upraised, "there is my current incarnation. I suppose it's all very... _amusing_ for you. I can imagine what ran through your head. 'Yes, let's give the nasty lecher the body of an attractive female, shall we? Won't it be terribly funny? What a delightful joke!' Ha, ha, ha, I don't think. Now what do you have to say to that?"

The Creator did what was perhaps the fastest thinking of his entire life. Frankly, he was amazed he could even form coherent speech. "I'm afraid that ironic reincarnation isn't in my jurisdiction." _Please let her believe that, please let her believe that... wait, I'm the Creator. Who am I supposed to pray to?_

Aran'gar planted her hands on her ample hips and glared twin pairs of poisoned daggers at the Creator. "Not in your-"

"But I believe the Dark One might be able to assist you," the Creator interrupted smoothly, as if he wasn't terrified enough to attempt praying to himself.

Aran'gar paled. "N-n-o, I think-" She licked her lips nervously. "I think I'll just-"

The Creator smiled pleasantly and even managed to affect an air of wide-eyed innocence. "I think he's down the hall to your left. Or maybe your right, I've never been quite able to get the hang of the physics here. Terribly confusing. You know," he said, adopting a conversational tone, "I hear that Lanfear got stuck in here for a few books and was never quite the same afterward..."

He trailed off at this point, as Aran'gar had already fled the premises. Giving himself a mental high five and pouring another cup of the rapidly cooling tea, he fervently hoped that the terrified Aran'gar and the prospect of meeting the Aelfinn and Eelfinn again would keep out Cyndane.

Just then, the silver-haired mindtrap victim herself strolled in.

The Creator spent a brief moment bemoaning the fact that it was actually _situational_ irony he had no control over.

"I see that Aran'gar has developed a new appreciation for the _generosity_ of the Great Lord." Cyndane picked up the delicate porcelain teapot and poured herself a cup of tea, only to put it back down with a look of disdain upon tasting it. "A pity that even I cannot channel here. But then, I have put up with much worse than cold tea, as you well know."

The Creator had a sinking feeling that Cyndane's grievances would not be redirected as easily as Aran'gar's. Those suspicions only faltered slightly when she spoke again- he knew Lanfear too well.

"Oh, do not fear that I will lay the blame for my new, inadequate body on you. The fault there lies squarely at the feet of Moiraine, and I will make her pay dearly." Her delicate features, initially smiling, waxed wrathful. "That little child will _rue_ the day she postponed my revenge on Lews Therin!"

_The woman is nothing if not single-minded_, the Creator mused. _Even now, she wants power over others. Just the person I was looking forward to being trapped with in an alternate dimension!_

"But I'm getting ahead of myself. Do relax. You'll have plenty of time later to panic."

The Creator showed Cyndane how comforting he found that statement by whimpering slightly. She responded by sending him a haughtily contemptuous look. Even if her body and name had changed, it was obvious that she had lost nothing except strength in the Power. Cyndane was indeed Lanfear- just angrier.

"I also assure you that the matter of my _cour'souvra_ is between Moridin and I. I have even less wish than Aran'gar to appear ungrateful for my _last chance._" Her full lips twisted bitterly, loathing the words. "I have even decided to seek revenge elsewhere for the way Lews Therin spurned me- a fact which I am sure comes as a pleasant surprise to you."

The Creator squeaked agreement, while waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It dropped.

"The answer I want from you is why you deliberately sabotaged my performance as Selene!"

His jaw dropped as well. _What in the Wheel is she talking about? It was her own unbridled arrogance and underestimation of Rand that destroyed her Selene act!_ Luckily for the Creator, his motor functions had more of a sense of self-preservation than his neural pathways and refused to emit anything more coherent than "Wibba?"

"It's obvious that my acting skills are amazing. That pathetic excuse for a Dreamer that I hoodwinked in _Tel'aran'rhiod_ can attest to that- she never suspected that 'nice old Silvie' in the Stone of Tear was actually me! And no one guessed that fat, ugly Keille was actually the beautiful, slim Lanfear. Even my brief stint as Else Grinwell was a success. So there can be no doubt that the failure of my Selene persona was engineered- by you!"

The Creator was at a loss. It was plain to _him_, and to the reader as well, he hoped, that Lanfear's obviously suspicious knowledge of Age of Legends trivia and overly familiar manner with Rand was her fault alone. But if he actually said that, it was likely that she wouldn't leave enough of him to scrape off the walls, much less make suspenders out of. And he wasn't sure he trusted his newfound "Exposition Powers" either- not against the plot hole that allowed channeling in the Tower of Ghenjei. _She might appreciate being told her fatal flaws. _The Creator shook himself, aghast at what he was thinking. _Oh, yes, because the Forsaken are well known for their calm, mature handling of constructive criticism! Get a grip!_ However, maybe if he phrased it tactfully- she was obviously expecting an answer…

"Well, because you are normally such a good actor, you may have been… um… overconfident?" he offered tentatively. There seemed to be no explosion as of yet. "Perhaps it would have been more profitable to…" _not talk aloud to yourself all the time_ "…be slightly less flamboyantly _you_ in conversation?"

She watched him with narrowed eyes. "You're insinuating that it was _my fault_ that Lews Therin didn't believe me."

"Um… well… not exactly… yes." The Creator closed his eyes. His last regret was that now he'd never get to write Tarmon Gaidon- he didn't really care too much about the whole "Who Killed Asmodean?" debacle, it should really have been obvious that Asmodean's killer was- "Sorry this took so long," came a voice from the doorway. Somehow, it sounded a lot like Moiraine. "I was making more tea and- LANFEAR?"

The Creator resolutely kept his eyes shut throughout the ensuing hisses, slaps, and occasional heart-rending screams of terror or triumph. It wasn't that he was unwilling to face carnage- he had fought in the Vietnam War, after all- it was just that he really didn't want to see what would happen to him if Cyndane won.

After a while, relative silence fell, aside from the sounds of a body being dragged unceremoniously across the room. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. "You can open your eyes now. The Eelfinn have a special room for making," here the speaker paused, sounding very smug indeed, "accessories."

He complied, revealing Moiraine to be the victor and the new pot of tea to be brewing. "That's some grudge," he said without thinking. Moiraine merely smiled, like a satisfied cat. "Yes, the Eelfinn and Aelfinn didn't like her company much more than I did, even though they got a very good bargain on her release."

Studying his teacup, the Creator decided that some questions were better left unasked.

* * *

_As per usual, if you had any particular thoughts about this chapter and/or you'd  
like to see a specific character having tea with the Creator, drop me a review!_

_(I should probably also disclaim that my views and RJ's views on Lanfear are neccessarily exactly alike. I'm basing my opinion on Lanfear on textual interpretation, but I'm not privy to RJ's thoughts, so all this is ultimately just speculation.)_


	4. Elaida and Egwene

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Wheel of Time. Or the Creator.

**Author's Note: **This is ridiculously late. But it's up. And I suspect that it is significantly longer than any other chapter, so that might redeem the year's wait? Maybe? Much gratitude to **Firedroplet**, who made this chapter much less confusing, and to all the people whowaited so patiently for me to get off my lazy bum and write this chapter already.

* * *

"Moiraine, if you don't mind me asking, where did you get all this tea?" asked the Creator, gesturing to the teapot. "I never wrote you as the compulsively tea-bag-toting type."

Moiraine gave a tinkling laugh. "Hardly." She paused, growing more serious. "I am afraid that I cannot divulge the requested information, though, as then you would wonder about far more important things than beverages, such as 'How is she transporting all these characters here?' and 'How can I use that knowledge to escape?'. You see, we are far from done with these sessions."

_Of course_, the Creator sighed inwardly. "Dare I ask who my next vindictive victim is?" _Please not Rand, please not Rand, please not Rand..._

"You may, but you will not have to wait long for the answer. I should really be bringing her in now, actually," she replied, rising gracefully from her seat and moving towards the door, which may or may not have been there before she started moving towards it. "And I may be bringing in some spiced wine; Elaida has a marked preference for it these days." With a bit of a smirk, she sailed out of the room.

_Elaida_. The Creator could feel the beginnings of a terrible headache brewing. It wasn't Rand, at least, but Elaida! The bipolar Red in bitter denial about her own impotence as autocratic ruler of a crumbling edifice. Wouldn't that history be a dainty dish to set before the king! She'd surely have him eating crow, if he didn't make her eat it first. _If only I knew how Moiraine procured things from outside the Tower of Ghenjei! I could have the entire Seanchan army immobilize her... or just Egwene. Or Egwene and the Seanchan army together_! The Creator smiled, lost in happy daydreams.

However, his blissful vision of ravens and hawks and dancing white flames slipped away when he heard voices approaching. The conversation was clearly between two people who loathed each other- he couldn't make out actual words, but the tone of the voices left no doubt. As they neared, he picked out Moiraine's smug repartee and Elaida's angry rejoinder.

"I hear you're having trouble keeping things together, Elaida."

"At least I didn't let al'Thor run around loose, Moiraine!"

"You try keeping tabs on the boy- he's the Dragon Reborn! You just can't face the fact that your Ajah is useless now! You _must_ give him free reign, no matter how much it goes against your dearly-held prejudices."

"You Blues would be scheming while sisters were being murdered in their beds by these crazed Asha'man! This is a time for strong leadership, not cunning plots and useless plans!"

"Exactly, and that is why even the humblest Blue would be ten times more capable than-" at this juncture Moiraine practically thrust a fuming Elaida into the room- "you!" The petite Cairheinin darted away from the door, which was suddenly not there anymore. Elaida turned, clawing furiously at the wall, before realizing that someone else was in the room.

"Are _you_ the Creator?" she said haughtily, resuming her normal composure. "Or is this just some elaborate device of Moiraine's to try and regain power? If I could get my hands on her, that Blue..." she strode to the table and grabbed a teacup, looking disdainfully at the teapot. "You would think she would have the decency to provide a wider variety of beverages."

The Creator resisted the urge to smile. Elaida's stress reduction methods were true to canon, at any rate. _No doubt her stressors will be just as faithfully represented_, he thought, something that made his momentary lift in spirits fade away. _She certainly does have a right to complain, although I can't say I'm looking forward to it._

"I think that perhaps you should be cutting back on the alcohol," remarked the Creator aloud. His eyes widened as he realized that he had just given helpful advice to a Red Amyrlin. _Hello, death wish._

Elaida's eyes narrowed and she gripped her teacup tighter. "My personal habits are none of your concern." She paused and crossed her arms. "Who are you really? Some Asha'man in league with that Blue? Some spy of Alviarin's? Rest assured that I will find out."

"Would Moiraine lie?" the Creator asked boldly.

"She would if she were Black Ajah! Not that I would tolerate any such insinuation against any sister," Elaida retorted fiercely, seemingly unaware of her contradictory viewpoints. The Creator could have laughed, were Elaida not right there and likely to do something drastic. "Why am I here? I have urgent business to take care of. I am the Amyrlin Seat."

The Creator wondered if there was some sort of time limit on these confrontations. Perhaps if Elaida just kept on reassuring herself, he wouldn't have to face her wrath. It was worth a try. "Of course you are. Egwene al'Vere is no one. A small problem, easily solved," he said, testing the waters.

She looked at him suspiciously, but finally sat down. "You know about the al'Vere girl? Are you affiliated with the rebels?" she asked finally.

"Oh, no, no!" he hastily assured her. _Well, I suppose it depends how you look at it._ "I support the rightful Amyrlin. Mother." He wondered if perhaps he was overdoing it.

Elaida didn't seem to notice. "Good. Too many think they can stand against Tar Valon's might. But they will fall. They will all fall. No matter the obstacle, I will prevail!" She gripped the teacup even tighter, her smile becoming slightly maniacal. "They all laughed at my Foretellings, but soon the world will see that I was right! I will rebuild the White Tower stronger than ever. Those abominable Asha'man will grovel at my feet, as will the al'Vere girl."

The Creator nodded to placate her, as well as hide a smile. "The entire world will know what happens to those who meddle with Elaida do Avriny a'Roihan?" he offered helpfully.

"Exactly. You are remarkably perceptive," Elaida said, relaxing her grip on the teacup, "for a man".

The Creator narrowly avoided rolling his eyes. "I am honored, Mother," he replied, wishing there was a time-keeping device in the room. This had gone on for a bit. Why wasn't Moiraine back yet? Was she waiting outside until Elaida had gotten the same say as everyone else? _Of all the rotten setups... fine. I'll steer the conversation toward her grievances. The less time I'm in the same room with her, the better_. The irony of him actually complying with the demands of this ridiculous situation rankled, but clearly it was better to be cooperative.

"You must have many weighty affairs to manage, Mother," he said, hoping she'd seize on the opportunity. When she said nothing, he tried again. "Though I am sure your Talent helps ease the burden." _Come on, come on. You know you want to brag..._

"One might think so, but the knowledge I have received from Foretelling often serves to complicate matters. It is well that I can interpret my own visions," she said smugly, stroking the teacup.

A horrible thought began to dawn on the Creator, and he nearly swore. Beads of sweat began to form on his temples. _No. No. I'm not supposed to tell her that, am I? Oh, no, she'd kill me, three Oaths or no. Oh, no, no, no..._ But it was useless. He knew that the worst thing he'd ever done to Elaida was have her chronically misinterpret her own Foretellings. Elaida didn't know it yet, but clearly Moiraine wasn't going to come in until Elaida found out about the irony that had orchestrated her decisions._ Blood and bloody ashes. Here goes nothing_, he thought.

"Perhaps it is not wise to be so convinced of your own superiority. Even the most powerful and wise can make mistakes," he said, meeting her eyes. "I have a confession. As your Creator-" Elaida interrupted with a sniff- "I have done certain things for the narrative, and your character has suffered." He took a deep breath. "To put it plainly, every one of your Foretelling interpretations is wrong. I'm sorry."

Elaida's teacup broke. "How dare you! This is preposterous!" she exclaimed, brushing teacup shards off her red dress. She was clearly indignant, but he wasn't sure if she actually believed him. She probably never would, but he made the effort to explain.

"The savior of the world coming from the royal line of Andor is not Elayne. It is Rand al'Thor, the Dragon Reborn." He fought the urge to wince. These revelations must be such a blow to her ego. "Also, at this rate, the only way the White Tower could become 'whole and stronger than ever' is through Egwene. While she too has her flaws, she has a much wider contingent of allies and connections." _And except for the occasional spot of denial, I've been having her interpret her plot-related visions correctly_, he didn't add. "And before this actually sinks in and you attack me, I offer a final example. The sisters walking the grounds of the Black Tower do not signify your triumph. Those Aes Sedai are captives. I probably shouldn't have toyed with you for this long, but the narrative demanded it..."

Elaida shook her head and mouthed soundlessly. Her words were uncertain, when she finally spoke. "You... no. How did you... it can't..." The Red was clearly badly shaken. The Creator felt a pang of sympathy, despite his fear that she would get a hold of herself and rip him to shreds.

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't want to tell you," he offered quietly.

This was clearly the wrong thing to say, he decided, as Elaida drew herself up and looked at him, eyes blazing with righteous anger. "You weren't going to TELL ME?" she roared. "You were going to let me sit there, making incorrect assumptions just because you felt the need to watch me bungle the job I've always wanted?"

"Ah... yes," the Creator said in a small voice. "That's one of the themes of the series. Making the best of the information you have, because no one has all the information. No one is right all the time."

"Why must you demonstrate this with ME?" she said.

"Oh, it's not just you!" the Creator hastily assured her. "Even Egwene was completely blind to something rather important. Everyone in this series has communication problems. That's probably why I'm here, actually." He mulled it over. _You know, it probably is. These interviews aren't just for the characters, they're also for me_. "You're certainly not alone in being a victim of communication-related irony."

Elaida sniffed. "Good. See it stays that way." As she strode for the suddenly-there door, she bumped into Egwene, who had apparently been standing there and waiting for her turn. The Creator sighed. _Hopefully Moiraine will be here soon to clean up the blood_.

But miraculously, the two Amyrlins settled for giving each other death glares and marching very pointedly in seperate directions. Apparently Egwene had something on her mind that was even more important than picking a fight with Elaida. "Just what exactly was I completely blind to?" she asked, not even bothering to offer a greeting. She had sat down and poured herself a cup of tea, smiling at the broken teacup on the floor, before the Creator had worked out a response.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now," he said, grimancing. "Remember your masseuse 'Halima'? And how you were so convinced that she was nothing but a harmless flirt?"

Egwene nodded, sighing. "In retrospect, perhaps I should have listened to the many testimonials from my trusted friends."

It was the Creator's turn to nod. "I couldn't have put it better myself." He paused, wondering if he should really do this to the poor girl, but decided that honesty was apparently the best policy. "In case you wanted to know, she was actually Balthamel."

The young Amyrlin blanched. "Not the-"

"Yes. The lecher. I really am sorry for that, by the way. But that's just the way irony goes," the Creator said, finding the bottom of his teacup quite interesting. "Was there, uh, anything else you wanted to know?" _...I'm sure she'll be fine. She knows how to put herself to sleep. All the same, perhaps I shouldn't be _quite_ as open next time, unless it's really important_, he thought guiltily.

Egwene shivered and pushed her teacup away, clearly feeling nauseated. "I'm not sure, now. Do you have any more unpleasant surprises to spring on me?"

"Possibly, but they're all in the future. Not the past. Which is where Halima is. No need to dwell on what's past, it's not like time is circular in this series or anything," the Creator replied quickly.

Egwene gave him a sharp look, but let the matter drop, probably because she didn't want to think about it any more than he did.

"So do you have any other concerns?" the Creator prodded, though he figured that the major issue had been addressed. _Small talk will probably help her get her mind off it._

"Well... actually, I'd quite like to know where Gawyn is," Egwene offered, blushing. "I haven't seen him for quite some time. I'm beginning to wonder if my Dream will ever come true..."

The Creator debated with himself. _I should at least tell her not to doubt her Dreaming... but then again, with the state of the Dark One's prison being what it is, she probably should._ "All I can tell you," he finally said, "is that he does love you. And I'm working on book twelve."

Egwene sighed. "I suppose that's reassuring, at least. I guess you're not going to give me any hints about Dream interpretation? Or politics?"

"Light, of course not!" the Creator laughed. "I'm here to respond to your grievances, not reveal future plot twists. If I went around giving hints all the time, there'd be no suspense. Take the matter of Asmodean's death. If I admitted that it was-" but at that moment the door opened and Moiraine stepped in.

"Is everything settled?" she asked. "Because Rand al'Thor is next, and I don't think you want to keep him waiting."

_Oh, on the contrary_, thought the Creator as his shoulders slumped. _I would very much prefer to keep him waiting_.

* * *

_...But that doesn't mean you should keep me waiting for a review:D If you had any particular thoughts on this, or want to suggest future interviewees, feel free to share._

_Also, in case the king/eating crow reference was too obscure- it comes from "Sing a Song of Sixpence"._

_"Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye/  
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie./  
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing/  
Oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?"_


End file.
